MARTIN RATTLER. 127

along beside his friend Barney, “that I knew some-
thing of botany.”

Barney opened his eyes in surprise. “Arrah! it’s
too much of a philosopher ye are already, lad. What
good would it do ye to know all the hard names that
men have given to the flowers? Sure I wance wint
after the doctor o’ a ship, to carry his box for him
when he wint on what he called botanical excursions ;
and the poor cratur used to be pokin’ his nose for
iver down at the ground, an’ peerin’ through his
green spectacles at miserable bits 0’ plants, an’ niver
seemin’ to enjoy anything; when all the time J was
lookin’ far fornint me an’ all around me, an’ up at the
sky, seein’ ivery beautiful thing, and snifterin’ up the
sweet smells, an’ in fact enjoyin’ the whole univarse
—an’ my pipe to boot—like an intelligent cratur.”

Barney looked round as he spoke with a bland, self-
satisfied expression of countenance, as if he felt that
he had given a lucid definition of the very highest
style of philosophy, and proved that he, Barney
O’Flannagan, was possessed of the same in no common
degree.

“Well, Barney,” rejoined Martin, “since you give
me credit for being a philosopher, I must continue to
talk philosophically. Your botanical friend took a
mecroscopic view of nature, while you took a telescopic